


Because I am a Selfish and Opportunistic Bastard

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Deception, Love Confessions, M/M, Moriarty is Alive, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 19:11:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14503623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Mycroft Holmes confesses some dark secrets. Mycroft POV.





	Because I am a Selfish and Opportunistic Bastard

It’s weekend, almost!!!

 

I am excited beyond excited. In fact I am thrilled. Just like all other Friday’s afternoons, I could barely concentrate on my work or the ramblings of the Foreign Minister, who had invited me for a working lunch today.

 

The venue was the Ritz, which was almost an hour away from my office and I had to make that traffic-infested journey in my luxury limousine. The food was okay but it threw my strict diet off the hook and that’s not very nice. Such is the pain of the man who heads MI5 and MI6. As a minor government official, I just don’t understand why I need to work so hard or meet so many people. Legwork disgusts me, people repulse me. Yet, I continue to tolerate both for the sake of my job, my country, for the Queen and of course my eventual Knighthood. Sir Mycroft Holmes, doesn’t that sound grand and absolutely ‘right’!

 

But I digress.

 

I was distracted because I am going to see him again and spend two whole days and three nights with him, only him. Like every weekend for the past 1 year, I am there by six every Friday evening and leave only at six on Monday morning. I can barely hold back my goofy smile.

 

Once I reach home, I dismiss my housekeeper for the weekend, ask Anthea to handle all my shit and switch off my phones. I have an hour-long drive ahead to reach the place where we meet, our secret and romantic hideout. Yes, Mycroft Holmes also has feelings. I can care for and nurture people, support and nourish relationships, as long as there is something in it for me.

 

I groan when one of my phones ping just as I am about to switch it off. Sherlock has texted. What is with this boy and his texting? Can’t he call? Some good old fashioned things, like face-to-face conversations and phone calls are irreplaceable.

 

_Mycroft._

 

Yes, tell me.

 

_I need about fifteen grand._

 

Why?

 

 _My money. Big payouts from rich clients. Inheritance from nana. I’m worth a couple of million_.

 

Yes, but I am the custodian of your fortunes. Explain the nature of expenses.

 

_I have to rebuild the kitchen. It no longer exists._

 

I wait for a full minute and don’t respond, which prompts him to add additional info. _Failed experiment, John yelling, Mrs. Hudson hopping mad, neighbors taking pictures and laughing, please-please-please you stingy geezer._

 

I ignore the rude comment and reply with a terse single liner. “Money will be in your account in ten minutes but don’t disturb me any further over the weekend.”

 

***

 

He is waiting on the balcony for me. Briefly, as I glance up and see his smiley face, I am transported to a bygone era of Romeo and Juliet. In today’s world we can have a Romeo and James story, where two men can love each other just as passionately as a man and a woman can possibly love each other. I rush indoors and he rushes down the staircase, then he jumps into my arms as we meet half way. His unique and intoxicating scent leaps to my nostrils and the warmth of his embrace makes me feel as good as putting a renowned political assassin on the electric chair.

 

“Always on time,” he smiles broadly, “I like that.”

 

“I come bearing gifts, like always,” I say as we sit on the couch, he perches almost on my lap and I keep him close by wrapping my arms around him, “Your favorite chocolates, wines and spices, the books you wanted, a DSLR camera that you asked for and a very powerful binocular, which I think you’d love when you watch the migratory birds in the morning. They would appear real close, within an arm’s length, it is that good! Would you like to open the gifts now? I can get them from the car.”

 

“No,” he says, “Can’t we do something better?”

 

“Like what?” I ask, eyebrows waggling. I can feel my hardness build. Oh Mr. Dick, you traitor, stay in my pants!

 

“You tell me,” he is a master at throwing things back at me.

 

“Hmmm, cook together?” I don’t give in yet.

 

“But I have already cooked dinner. Dinner is ready. Stacy and I finished up half hour ago. Chinese, your favorite on Fridays. Hot and sour soup, fried rice with eggs and Chinese greens and a sweet and sour shrimp dish on the side.”

 

“Why have you cooked?”

 

“Well, I helped. She cooked.”

 

“You’re not supposed to cook _or help_. You’re my prince, the lord of the manor, my pampered darling! You will give orders, you aren’t going to do the work yourself. I am going to have a word with Stacy on this. She has clearly been slacking and shifting the buck on to you.”

 

“Prince?” He snorts, “I thought I am the king.”

 

An image of him draped in the sealskin cape, wearing the stolen crown and brandishing the scepter flashes before my eyes and I realize that I need to put in a big effort to not let the expression on my face change. I cannot, WILL NOT, let him lapse into that life. I had to make a big effort to get him to this point and my effort will not go wasted. “You are the king,” I whisper, cupping his face in my hands, “My king, the king of my heart, the king of geniuses in this world.” My heart leaps as his eyes light up. They still have a dark, bottomless depth in them but I am willing to ignore that aspect as long as I know it’s all under control.

 

“Okay then what else can we do if we don’t cook….I mean I can’t cook?”

 

_Devious, naughty, wicked. I like._

 

“Should we just get to the point?” I asked.

 

“Yeah,” he squirms and moans. He can be such a pretty slut. My slut.

 

“Suck my cock. Only you can suck my cock so good.”

 

Over the next five minutes he demonstrates that very thing, justifying my faith on him that he gives the best blowjob in this world. Nobody, no man or woman, can even come on his horizon, let alone at his level. A genius even in this matter.

 

I hear my own moans, embarrassingly loud, and try to muffle them by biting down on my sleeve. His dark head bobs up and down between my legs and obscene slurping sounds fill the room just as his hot mouth engulfs my entire erection. I wonder if he has an endless throat because I am more than average and yet he swallows me root to tip. Lucky, lucky me, as some of my fellow Diogenes club members whisper behind my back ‘Lucky Bastard’.

 

“James!”

 

I cry out his name as I cum. For the next few minutes I am left bereft of speech and any other sensory powers. When I come back to Mother Earth the first thing I see is his Cheshire grin. “Was it any good?” He asks.

 

“You outdo yourself,” I said, “Every single time. Now let me return the favor.”

 

“You will….??”

 

“Yeah, I am ready to do it.”

 

“Oh Godddd!!!”

 

My drama queen makes all sorts of noises of disbelief as he strips to his bare skin and lies on his front on the couch. I can smell YSL shower gel and a fruity shampoo on his skin and hairs. Little devious darling, did he anticipate I would rim him tonight? He has scrubbed up, knowing how finicky I can be. I part his cute tushy cheeks apart and the pink hole instantly twitches under my gaze. I blow on it and it twitches some more. He mewls and yelps. Then I lick a hot strip down the central crack and push my tongue in, making him swear like a sailor and moan like a whore. It encourages me to delve in more and his moans keep rising and rising until he comes hard with scream, the perfect encore!

 

“Mikey,” he whispers in the aftermath.

 

“Yes love,” I nuzzle his ears.

 

“I am scared.”

 

“But why? What or who dares to scare you?”

 

“That one day you’ll disappear.”

 

It twists the knife in my heart. I have been trying, haven’t I? “You don’t trust me James?”

 

Dark doe eyes look at me honestly, “I do. But what if somebody does something to you? What if you fall and lose your memory and don’t remember me anymore? What if you get lost, or I get lost, and we can’t reach each other anymore? These things can happen, these threats are very real. I don’t know where you live, where you work, your colleagues, your family, no one. It’s just you and me.”

 

I kiss his temple, “It will be always like this. You and me. I have no family and I am in secret service so I can’t disclose my work or my office. Introducing you to my colleagues and friends will put you in danger sweetheart. They could target you in order to get to me.”

 

“I know.”

 

His voice is small. I hate it when I can’t cheer him up. But tonight I have just the thing that would bring a smile to his angel lips. “Hey, big boy, look at me,” I say and he looks into my eyes obediently, “You can’t have what you want, because your man has a very critical but difficult job. But _you can have what you need_. Here, I have some things for you which might allay your fears just a bit. Hold on.”

 

“The gifts?” He asks. It’s hard to imagine he was once a terror, a madman, a complete bastard like I still am. He sounds so different, so vulnerable and loveable now. Correction, he was loveable even then. Both Sherlock and I saw it.

 

Sherlock! No, why am I thinking about him? If I even as much as mention his name, it could be a trigger to bring back a flood of memories for James.

 

“No, not the gifts honey,” I quickly busy myself with the task at hand, “Here. Look at these papers my lawyer prepared for us. This seven-bedroom stately home, the apartment in Dublin, the ten-acre property in the outskirts of Edinburgh, they are all put in your name. There are also three accounts in foreign banks, which have enough and more wealth to last you three lifetimes. They run into millions. There is also a decent collection of art which I have transferred to your name, which could be very useful on a rainy day. You will always be well-provided for.”

 

“This is all good….but I wasn’t asking for money.”

 

“Money is not all I am offering. You have your lab, you have your machines, you have the contacts I gave you. Even if I am no more, you can continue to work. You’re a brilliant mathematician and scientist. Nothing should come between you and your work.”

 

“What if I want more?”

 

It’s time. I know it’s now or never.

 

I take out the small box and go down on one knee. Ouch, that hurt. My trick knee! But his look of surprise is worth it. “James Brooke, will you please agree to become James Brooke Holmes in the near future. A small and private wedding in Seychelles, followed by a honeymoon in Morocco? I know you love Marrakesh!”

 

“Yes,” he jumps up and down like a child, “Yesss!”

 

***

 

Dinner is delicious and James is dozy afterwards. But not too tired because he insists we have sex before we fall asleep. This time we do a traditional missionary and I love the way he clings to me as I empty myself inside him. His moans are soft now, his kisses are sleepy, he’s lazy.

 

He soon becomes pliant in my arms.

 

Like many other Fridays before this, my mind races back to those days when he was Moriarty and not my James. I had found out he had faked his death and landed up before him when he was least expecting it. But I hadn’t intended to kill him. I simply stuck a needle in his arm and made him pass out so I could take him to the top-secret lab in east London. For years my top-grade scientists had been working on a serum injected directly to the brain. It causes amnesia, temporary loss of memory. But if a series of injections could be given for three months post that (not in the brain of course), followed by one injection a month for three years, that memory loss would be permanent. His genius would be unaffected, only his memories would be wiped clean.

 

“I sometimes remember this person,” he whispers in a barely audible voice, “Tall, curly hairs, green eyes, unsmiling, deep voice, long frock coat. Was he our friend before the accident?”

 

Did I mention Jim thinks there was a terrible accident which made him lose his memory and me my family? Well, that’s what he thinks is what brought us here, to this point in our lives. It’s just me and him, nobody else left in this world to call our own. Of course, it’s one of the large pack of lies I fed him and sustained our relationship on but I have no fucking regrets at all. I had to do what I had to do and all is fair in love and war. There was love between us and there was war between me and the establishment as everyone questioned the disappearance of James Moriarty and I convinced them all that he didn’t even exist. He was just a decoy. Let’s just say I won both. Love and war.

 

“Mikey?”

 

“Sorry hon, was thinking about what you asked. Nope, no friend befits such a description. Possibly you remember me from my younger days. A faint shape and outline I guess.”

 

“I used to remember a lot before, now no more.”

 

He sounds resigned. Again, a good sign. It’s good to be at peace with what you got.

 

“That’s why I reduced the injections and now I am going to discontinue them altogether,” I speak in my noble voice, “It’s been three years with no specific progress. Best not bark up that tree anymore. I hate to see you wince when the needle touches your skin.”

 

“I’m glad,” he yawns wide against my chest, “I hate shots.”

 

“Just a few more years and I will be all yours,” I state truthfully, “We will retire to a beachside villa in the Bahamas. We will fall asleep every night to the sounds of the waves lapping close by and wake up to the sounds of seagulls screeching in the distance. We will play golf and sip rum punch on the beach, dip our toes in the ocean and take our boat mid-sea and do some fishing. During evenings you can play and piano and I can play the guitar.”

 

“Violin?”

 

My heart skips a beat.

 

“Nope, no violins,” he suddenly says, much to my relief, “They sound too sad and distant and lonely. They also give me nightmares. I see someone playing it and calling out to me.”

 

He falls asleep quickly after that, the ring I had slipped on his finger now shining in the darkness.

 

I lie awake and think, I form plans in my head and try to guess possible failure points that could melt down my beautiful world. One can never be too cautious while leading a dual life like this. If Sherlock gets to know he’d fight tooth and nail to get his hands on James. He has a soft corner of this man, who he claims is his alter ego. I can’t let that happen.

 

As soon as mummy and daddy are no more I plan to ‘kill’ myself and then whisk James away to the Bahamas. We would live the lovely retired life that only a few can hope to live. Sherlock will be a bit lonely to begin with but by then I suppose John and he would have become a real couple. They will support each other. By then I would have also secured my knighthood, sealed my reputation and gained the legendary status I always strove to create for myself. My life, once I have reached fifty, will belong solely to James.

 

I have told a shitload of lies. I am deceiving the man I love. I plan to abandon the brother I really am fond of. I drugged and captured one of the world’s biggest geniuses. I have retained a huge chunk of Moriarty’s wealth and concealed that fact from the government and MI6, simply because it might come in very handy in the future. I have done all sorts of despicable things no brother, son or lover would do.

 

But then, as I said, all is fair in love and war.

 

And I am a selfish, opportunistic bastard deeply in love, and always at war.

**Author's Note:**

> IMO Mycroft is the only man who can trick both Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty


End file.
